


Tarantula Perfume

by goldcoin, leporicide



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Gore, Murder, Psychological Horror, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldcoin/pseuds/goldcoin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/leporicide/pseuds/leporicide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He didn’t finish you off.” </p><p>You freeze, you both freeze and you can’t tell if it’s because your body can no longer form the energy to spasm or because he’s just as shocked as you.  He approaches you quickly now, and you notice the change.  He no longer hunches, his back is firm, his grip on the umbrella tightens.  He walks with a purpose, like he has a duty to serve.</p><p>As he stands over you, and you notice his eyes are red.</p><p>An angel. He’s going to kill you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Daggers

**Author's Note:**

> This is the serial killer au the artist caledscratch on tumblr created and I am placing into words. They are also the one who will be drawing for this horrid tale! All art belongs to them.

Tarantula Perfume - Prologue

_Oh you would, wouldn't you_  
 _Trade your daggers in for tarantula perfume_  
 _They could have come in use_  
 _Through the next clearing lies your impending doom_

———

It reeks of alcohol and disinfectant.

Karkat holds his nose, he always does. No matter how many times he follows the steps.  He holds his nose before he even starts, really, holds it as soon as Gamzee comes home after so long that it’s not alright.  He’s never alright, but dwelling on such thoughts always leaves Karkat furious with himself.  The sponge is soaking up enough blood and he stops his thoughts to wring it in the bucket.  The disinfectant burns his nose and he feels like crying for entirely different reasons. 

Gamzee must have heard the sniffle because soon he’s kneeling next to the shorter male lifting up the bucket to empty it in the sink.  Karkat doesn’t look up from scrubbing the wooden floor as Gamzee mutters a mantra of apologizes.  He doesn’t say anything.

It’s routine and he doesn’t say anything.

It takes Karkat three hours to clean the scene and hide what’s left of the body and thirty minutes of crying at the sink as he washes his hands over and over. Gamzee doesn’t say anything, just sits on the floor beside him, looking at his hands.  It surprises both of them when Karkat’s voice cracks through the silence. 

“We’re moving.”

 

———

They don’t own much between the two of them.  And the landlord claims that the apartment is furbished.  Karkat could care less, he just wants to sleep.  So, when the lanky male opens the door, still eerily quiet, he doesn’t bother to ask questions.  Just heads straight to bed and closes his eyes to sleep, wondering if this would be the last time he’s awake.


	2. Speak of the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only short chapter in this tale, I promise. As claimed before, idea and art are by tumut (caledscratch) and I am simply writing it out.

Chapter Two – Speak of the Devil

_I’m wrecking worlds and breaking bones,_  
 _and I’m beheading the King on his throne,_  
 _but I’m not sleeping alone._

———

Tavros Nitram wakes up with something akin to horror.  His eyes snap open and his body shakes and his teeth click harshly together.  It takes him a couple moments to compose himself.  The sun is leaking into his room through the window and he narrows his eyes at it.  He has work in three hours, his alarm blares at him, and soon Tavros is grabbing the metal bar nailed on the wall beside his bed.  The metal is cold against his fingertips as he uses it to hoist himself up into a sitting position.  His lower back aches and protests, but that’s it.

That’s all he can feel down there anyway.

The first leg is always the hardest.  Making sure the wheelchair is close enough to plant his butt firmly in the seat, the brunette slowly eases his way out, making sure to be gentle with his legs.  Though he can’t feel them, he doesn't want them broken.

The rest of the morning passes with relative smoothness.  Pants were difficult as usual, but breakfast is so much sweeter when he has to fight for it, he tells himself.  He tries to comb his hair, gets it close to how he likes and starts to roll his way towards the door.  He pauses when he hears voices in the hallway.  Well, he hears a single voice, whispering to himself.  He truly wants to wait, let the male, whoever it was do his business but time was running and Tavros has only so many ways to get to work without crawling.  His apartment door opening must have shocked the other guy as much as his voice did to Tavros, because soon there’s a head whipping around to face him. 

Tavros has never seen eyes like his.  They were bright red, like blood, wide and expressive with luggage that dragged black marks under them, thick and heavy.  The male was of average height, maybe a bit shorter if Tavros could be the judge of that.  A hooded sweater rests in the male’s hands but before Tavros can get a proper word out of his mouth, the boy gives him an uneasy smile.  “Morning.”

 

 

“Oh! Uh, good morning!”  The boy nods and sort of just shifts his weight as if unsure of what to do with himself.  Tavros gives him back the nervous smile and an extension of his hand.  “I’m Tavros.  Did you just move in?” 

Tired eyes thank the handicapped man silently before taking his hand.  “I’m Karkat.  Yeah, we just moved in.”

“We?”

“There’s a dead guy in his bed.”  The joke has Tavros laughing, but he finds it halting that Karkat’s smile back is humorless.  “You’ll probably see him around.”  With that, the male goes back to locking the door, shoulders hunched as if he is hiding from everything and everyone.

“Uh, um, I have to go to work.  It is a pleasure to meet you, Karkat.”  The male nods in return, placing his hood on and walking out with him. Only to turn in the direction of the Laundry mat, a bag in his hand that Tavros only ever noticed now that they were parting.  It leaves a bad taste in his mouth.  That even from his view, the other seemed to hide something so noticeable.

———

Tavros comes home late, and if Vriska’s angry texts are anything to go by, it’s later than usual.  He makes haste, rolling to the apartment building’s glass doors and swiping his key card.  He only slows when he notices someone waiting for the elevator, face hidden by a large purple hood.  It reminds him of Karkat immediately, though he can’t place his finger on why.

 

 

He wheels right beside the lanky man and gets a raised eyebrow and the laziest smile he’s ever seen back.  Tavros already figures, the first time seeing this man, that he’s the young man’s roommate.  “Uh, sleep well?”  Conversation starters, classic.

The male, a slightly darker skin than his own, probably Hispanic, Tavros figures, gives him another smile that worms its way on pale lips.  “Hell ya, motherfucker.  Peaceful as a motherfucking baby.” 

“Oh, that’s nice.  I, uh, guess?”  He speaks weird, like he doesn’t know how to word things properly.  Tavros doesn't mind it much though, the lanky man’s voice almost soothing, like gentle waves.  “I’m Tavros, your, uh, neighbor.”

Gamzee seems to be nodding to music that isn’t there, but that doesn’t hold the male from answering.  “Little red birdie told me so.” Karkat. “I’m motherfucking Gamzee.”  Tavros nods, not sure what to say.  The elevator opens and Tavros wheels his way on, turns to press the button and notices that Gamzee has not followed him.  Before he can say anything, the doors are closing and Gamzee is waving at him goodbye.

And no matter how weird the situation was, Tavros found himself waving back. 

Wasn't that the sweater Karkat was carrying to the wash with him this morning?

———

Vriska is waiting for him with the door open, her eyes narrowed and her blonde hair a mess.  She’s wearing his boxers and it’s all Tavros can find in himself to sigh exasperatedly before letting her come out and pull him inside.

Dinner is calmer than usual, Vriska finding nothing to scrutinize about him today.  Tavros is the one to strike up conversation.  “Have you seen the new neighbors?”

Vriska stops chewing briefly, almost as if to search her memory.  “I ran into one of them today on my way back.  The short one.”  Tavros ‘hmms’ at that, sitting back and moving his hips comfortably.  

“They seem pretty nice.”

“They seem like secret ax murderers.”  Tavros chokes on his food.  “Only kidding,” she manages to slip out in between bites of bread.  “They’re okay, I guess.”

Vriska helps him with the dishes and punches him the gut three times before she’s out the door to her own place across the hall.  He waves her off and goes to bed.

He dreams of clowns and tired red eyes and the burning scent of alcohol. 


	3. Funeral Moon

Chapter Three – Funeral Moon

_Well they tell me to get it together_  
 _It’s either my head or it’s the weather_  
 _But suddenly it’s so very clear_  
 _I’ve got to get the hell out of here_

———

Dave sits uneasily in the office chair.  He’s been staring at the monitor for nearly three hours now, the blinking icon to the type tool mocking him silently.  Rose sips her coffee beside him, he grits his teeth. 

Four murders, there has been a chain of four murders in four months.  Four murders and zero suspects.

“It’s your fault for wanting to write a ‘cool article’.”

“Not now, Rose.  A man’s working now.”

“Is that what they’re calling it, nowadays?”

Dave rolls red irises at her before eyeing the screen one last time.  The victims, a male in his thirties, two women who were apparently twins, and the most recent one, a young male who seems to make habit of playing extremely loud music late at night, if the neighbors testimony is anything to go by.  All of them are unrelated, all of them live in completely different cities from each other.  Dave huffs before getting up and pulling his jacket from behind the seat.  Rose shoots him a pointed glance and he simply shrugs, pulling his camera around his neck before pocketing his wallet.  “Leaving so soon?”

“For a bit,” he grumbles, refusing to admit defeat as he knots his shoelaces.  “Just going to take some hot pics, dazzle the world that which hinges at my every word.  You know, same old shit.”  Rose only offers him a slight chuckle and a wave as he exits the workplace.

———

Dave first sees him at the dry cleaners.  He notes the leanness of him, the way his muscles don’t seem to move as much as his bones, slow and steady, purposeful.  Dave watches from the corner of his sunglasses, fingers still typing away on the laptop warming his thighs.  He’s never seen this man before, hunched close to the machine, gritting his teeth as he presses buttons as if this is his first time using public machines.  Dave can’t see his face, though he admits to himself that he’d rather not want to.  Something about the air around him seems inexplicably harsh.  His eyes slowly turn back to the soft humming of the computer in front of him.  Four murders in the past four months.  One was completed three cities ago, two in the city right above that one.  And finally, one three hours away, in the small town right above their lovely home.  Police claim it was a single man, the murders having been nearly exact in their execution.  There was only one odd detail.  The cleanliness of the scene, the spotless carpets and pearly white tiles left in the killer’s wake.  It was too perfect for a death so gruesome.

Dave hears shuffling in the relatively empty Laundromat and looks up.  The male is trying another washing machine, frustratingly trying to get it to work.  Dave ponders the articles, fingers itching to write, to spin the tale so fucking well that even the police will read the passage just to reiterate their selves.   He hums in thought before he is rudely interrupted by years of sleepless nights.  The male is standing right in front of him, baggy black hood covering his forehead with a white shirt and a beat up pair of jeans.  He’s got a snarl on his lips, though Dave can’t take it seriously considering how pink they were, like he’s been gnawing at them in worry since he’s been born.

“Can I help you with something, bro?”

The male narrows his eyes, as if its Dave’s fault the universe hates him before opening his mouth with a voice as equally constipated as his face.  “That’d be fucking swell, as you just simply watched me struggle for ten minutes.”

Dave’s lips quirk up a bit at this.  Before he remembers what he’s doing and let’s his shades slide down the bridge of his nose in annoyance.  “I get my shits and giggles from the lesser fortuned.”  The male, honest to god, growls at him before turning on his heels, not bothering to give the blonde a proper response.  Dave sighs, gets up slowly, the camera around his neck weighing him down for a moment before he’s trudging his way to where the boy is, not waiting for a response before giving slow directions.  The male doesn't argue, following Dave’s orders. 

He doesn't know what posses him to do it.  Maybe it was the near calmness of the situation, or the way the boy’s eyes are so focused with the near obsession of scrubbing some sort of stain out of a sweater, or the sheer look of pride his eyes shine with when the machine roars to life.  Whatever it is, Dave can’t figure as he lifts the offending item from his neck and briefly snaps a quiet picture of the hooded man.  He doesn’t notice and Dave doesn’t mention it as he turns to give the blonde a grunt of a “thank you” before sitting on the machine and tapping away on his phone. 

Dave walks back to his own devices, pulls his clothes out of the dryer and closes his laptop.  He’s out the door a in a matter of seconds, pulling his car open and letting the articles of clothing and electronics fall gracelessly from his hands like he was some cocky elitist throwing gold down to the peasants below.

Dave has two revelations during the drive home.  One, that he rather likes the photo he took more than he should, and two, that two people were involved in the murders, rather than the supposed one.

———

Jade lies next to him, her nightgown touching his right thigh and Dave hums appreciatively.  She only giggles, removing her glasses to reveal glorious green eyes before focusing her attention at the laptop on Dave’s lap.  Her eyes roll.

“Are you really doing this? Like right now?”  Dave grins at her, removing his own eye wear before justifying himself.

“It’ll only take a minute, transferring the sick pics I took today.”  She only lulls her head to the other side and sighs softly.

“Fine, fine, but you better hurry.”  He only nods, momentarily forgetting she can’t see him. 

He clicks through the images, piles and piles of landscapes, two pictures of some elderly couple, a teenager getting arrested, a man struggling in the Laundromat.  Dave’s finger stops pressing the arrow key as he glances at the image from earlier today.  He’s hunched up against the machine, one hand gripping it tightly for support, the other pressing the button.  Dave finds himself analyzing the photo, the interesting and tiny peak at the end of the man’s noise, giving a near childlike appearance.  The expanse of skin from the collarbone just seen the cover of the black hood.  The bags under dark eyes, the first thing he noted when they interacted.  And his hands, Dave’s eyes keep drawing to them.  They’re white.  A pale, nearly sick color in comparison to the slightly darker skin tone of the boy.  It’s hardly noticeable and Dave can only point it out because he’s been staring at the image for longer than he likes to admit.  They’re delicate and white and it’s almost like they have been dipped in bleach so many times that they no longer try to remove the stains.

Dave decides that if the guy wasn't such a prick, he’d be rather beautiful.

———

The second time Dave sees Karkat, it’s by accident. 

The bus originally blocks his view.  Dave’s getting out of his car, has a set goal in mind.  Get a coffee, buy some eggs, and a small cake for the gathering tonight.  Although the supermarket is open nearly all times of the day, nobody ever comes around.  It’s a tiny place, located by Hamlin and Diversey, near a shady as fuck alleyway.  So, when he turns the corner into the aisle of baked goods, he nearly runs into the short male.  Swerving to the right in a fluid motion, Dave eyes the male from the edge of his shades.  The shorter is grumbling, an annoyed look on his face as he looks straight back at Dave. 

Dave notes his eyes, a repeat of their first encounter.  Notes the color and the size and the lines under it, and the way his eyes appear to be used to scowling, that it’s their default mode. 

“Be fucking careful,” he growls out, snapping the blonde from his stupor, who in turn, simply shrugs and takes a sip from his coffee.  The young male bends down to pick up the fallen objects that Dave didn't even notice get personal with the floor.  He attempts to help and receives another growl and a hand swat.  “Don’t worry your pretentious fucking self.  Don’t you have homeless people to photograph or something?”  The weight on his neck starts to feel more prominent.  Dave smirks.

“I guess you’ll have to stand still for a good picture then.”  He nearly laughs at the look of absolute horror that graces the male’s face before he turns back to his items and picks them with such furious intensity that Dave starts to feel nervous for their safety.  He’s up in a matter of moments, cursing under his breath and shuffling out of the aisle.

“Hey!”  Dave shouts, moving to his neck.  A head spins to face him, eyes narrowing.  Dave only smiles before snapping the picture.  The male blinks back in surprise and suddenly eyes him with anger that Dave notes actually intimidates him. 

“Delete that.”

“No.”

The boy’s mouth twists in such a monstrous way before a tune is interrupting the moment in which Dave will call, “The Day he was almost fucking murdered.”  The boy stops and answers the phone, whispering before nodding to himself and leaving the aisle once again, probably for good this time.

Dave looks at the image as he leaves the store, a bit angry with himself for allowing the flash to go off.  The background is completely flooded in light and the boy’s skin looks sickly pale.  The most off-putting of all, despite that fact that Dave still thinks he looks rather beautiful, is the glare his eyes produced.  So red and shining that they arrest Dave’s attention and give him a sense of uneasiness, like he’s stumbled into a grave mistake by associating himself with the boy.

Though that alone isn't enough to stop him.

 


	4. What I Did On My Summer Vacation

 

  
_The devil shook my hand and said_  
 _It’s always the living who envy the dead_  
 _He offered me his wine_  
 _I drank with him to pass the time_

———

There’s something about the way Karkat looks that warms Gamzee from the tips of his toes to the flush of his nose.   Not his appearance, per say, but the curve of his lips when a frown etches it's way on to his face, the way his eyebrows knit together in anger, and how beautiful his eyes look in the dead of night, staring at him when he thinks the lanky male is asleep.  Gamzee can only describe Karkat as one thing.

Beautiful.

Though sometimes he grows agitated that the other won’t notice his own stunning persona.  Gamzee sometimes mutters it to him, whispers it in his ear as he coaxes him to come closer.

Karkat doesn't need as much coaxing as he did when they were younger.

The first time Gamzee met Karkat, they were both in their first year of high school.  The only real thing Gamzee remembers from that time was how warm the smaller male was when they had collided in the hall.  How the heat seemed to simply radiate off of him perfectly, sending tingles down Gamzee’s spine.  He remembers thinking how much he would give to hold Karkat against him, if only for a moment.  If only to stop feeling cold.

They became close enough to be on speaking terms in their sophomore year.  Karkat likes to talk.  He can talk for hours, about everything, how terrible the lunch was, to the bullshit homework assignment, to how he needed to find a better way to sneak back into his house at night.  Gamzee played the martyr for him, listened and nodded and laughed when appropriate.  He never really paid much attention to what he was saying, focusing on the way Karkat’s eyes lit up when he was talking about something he was particularly passionate about. 

By their third year of high school, Gamzee was collecting pictures of him.  From full photos from the yearbook, to small clippings he finds on club pictures.  Just collecting.  It mesmerized Gamzee.  How Karkat seemed to make an entirely new expression for every picture, a different way to stitch his eyebrows together, a unique way of curling his lips, a sweet way to slyly smile.  Gamzee collected and Karkat slowly allowed Gamzee to be the only one to listen.

They were inseparable in their fourth year.  Karkat claims that it was because Gamzee was the only one he could ever trust.  Gamzee knows it started the moment they slept together.  Karkat has this thing about him, this need to tighten bonds until they’re suffocating.  Gamzee didn't mind, still doesn't mind.  Figures he likes the feeling of drowning in Karkat.  Liked being wrapped tightly in the warmth of Karkat, sexually or not.

Karkat didn't leave him when he found what he had done to his father.  What Gamzee had done to Karkat’s father, what the marks on Karkat’s skin had made Gamzee do.  When Karkat stood at his own door, his eyes bugging out and his mouth agape, Gamzee had jumped from the body in shock, had scrambled to apologize to him, say how motherfucking sorry he was but he was tired and he cares about his brother, cares about Karkat so fucking much that one dead body was worth it. 

Karkat didn't speak at first, ran to the bathroom, threw up, cried.  And Gamzee fiddled his thumbs, not sure what to do with his hands.  It was three hours later when Karkat came stumbling out, holding a bucket and a couple of bleach cleaners.  He took one look at the blood on Gamzee’s hands and gagged.

“We- we need to clean up.”

That was the only thing that was said that night, as they scrubbed away the blood from the carpets, as the body was hidden in the backyard, as they packed up, as Karkat packed up because Gamzee didn't need anything but him, and left. 

They left together and have stayed together ever since.

———

The coffee on Karkat’s lips is burnt.  It makes Gamzee laugh for some reason.  The smaller rolls his eyes, pushing his face away with a groan.  “That kills the mood faster than anything, you fucking clown.”  Gamzee can’t find a way to stop the chuckle as Karkat gets off the couch and cleans up his mug.  His fingers move quickly, scrubbing with a sort of trained experience that Gamzee finds beautiful.  Pale fingers, leaving his view to pick at the chunks of coffee at the bottom of the cup.  Karkat jumps a little when he feels Gamzee behind him, wrapping his hands on top of his, lets the mug fall and finds himself turning to the lanky male.  Gamzee likes how close they are in these moments.  How he can see the red speckles of Karkat’s eyes, drowning in brown.  Karkat gives him one of his beautiful small smiles, before he’s pushing passed him to turn off the television.

“You should stay inside for a while.”  Gamzee lazily turns his head to face the twenty year old.

“What?”

“I ran into someone a couple of days ago.”

Gamzee gives him a faraway look. 

“He took a picture of me.”

Now, Gamzee is focused.  Karkat looks pale, nervous and Gamzee takes the trek to him and grabs hold of him, despite Karkat’s groan in protest.  “Tell me who.”

Karkat doesn't answer, just hums at the breath that tickles his ears.  “I’ll swallow him.  I’ll take him whole and empty him completely.  It’d be motherfucking beautiful, like colors and bones and you’ll love it this time.  I know you didn't really love the last one, but this painting will be so much better and you’ll be so fucking happy, brother.  So fucking happy with me—”  And Karkat’s shushing him, patting him lightly on the cheek.

They don’t say anything for the rest of the day, just lay together on the bed that smells like clean laundry and sorrow and Gamzee doesn't mind because Karkat doesn't mind.

And that’s all that really matters.

———

That wheelchair brother is knocking on his door and Karkat isn't home, which means Gamzee isn't allowed to answer.  The knocking doesn't stop though and there’s this tiny voice asking if there was someone to help him lift something.

Gamzee figures that there is no harm in helping a neighbor brother out, so he finds himself flinging his body off the bed and trudging, shirtless to the door.  The air is cold and Karkat isn't here.  Gamzee’s spine feels stiff.  The handicapped male looks up at him and gives him an uneasy smile, looks at Gamzee’s unruly hair and drooping eyes and lazy smile and Karkat isn't there and it’s cold and Gamzee’s spine is stiff.

“I just need some help with the groceries,” he mumbles, not making eye contact.  Gamzee wonders why that infuriates him enough to break his arms too, so that he could match his legs.  Symmetrical bodies were fucking miracles.  Instead, Gamzee just smiles some more and follows the wheels into his apartment. 

———

Karkat is screaming when he returns.  This high pitched noise that rings off the walls with a ghastly force.  Gamzee can’t find it in himself to cringe when all he notices is how wonderful Karkat looks when he’s breaking down and freaking out.  Gamzee sometimes wonders if he broke Karkat all those years ago, and these fine moments of panic are what’s remaining of something that was once there. 

Karkat doesn't stop screaming and Gamzee doesn't stop smiling, even when they are no longer yelling about how much he was worried and telling him that he was so scared and they’re wrapped in each other.  Gamzee likes to think sex calms Karkat down, though he knows that if he points it out, Karkat would go into another fit and Gamzee might have to really break someone’s arms today.  So instead, he presses Karkat’s body to his, feels the warmth that starts at the curls of his toes to the flush on his nose.  As Karkat falls into a deep slumber Gamzee can only think of one thing.

Beautiful.


	5. Would You Be Impressed

 

  
_Oh, they meant it when they say we’re dead and doomed,_  
 _and every single symptom brings us closer to the tomb._  
 _And who would take the credit for our swift impending fall?_  
 _Because it’s not my fault._

———

Karkat’s only been here for a week, and he already knows the precise number of tiles that litter their ceiling.  He spends his time counting them: one, two, three, four. Before accepting the fact that, yes, it was one in the afternoon and he really needs to get the day going.

He sits up, the covers slipping off his naked chest and he shivers in protest.  The bed is empty beside him and that leaves a foul taste in his mouth.  He licks at his teeth before shoving his way off the bed and widening his eyes in horror as his body can’t react quickly enough to the sudden movement.  He gets personal with the floor in a matter of seconds and debates irately if this is the last time he’ll ever get up again.  He lies there for the next three minutes, smells the scent of old carpet and broken furniture and finds himself displeased with the familiarity of it all. 

Finally managing to get into the kitchen, making a quick rest stop to stare at the thermometer in anger and throwing on one of Gamzee’s shirts, he heads straight for the coffee machine.  He follows the routine down to the science of it.  The amount of ground coffee, how hot the water is pre-set to be, the strength of the brew.  So when the coffee machine doesn’t roar to life immediately, Karkat loses his shit. 

His finger jams the start button a hundred times before he’s screaming out a mantra of  “shit, shit, shit, I just want a fucking cup of coffee, what the actual fuck.” Hot water sputters at him. He slams his hand on the counter, turns on his heels and heads straight for the closet, pulling out a coat for the first time since they arrived at this shit hole.  Something clatters to the ground with the force of removing the offending article.  Karkat notices it as he slips a sleeve on.  A box, old and moldy that has him scrunching up his nose.  Probably something of Gamzee’s, “the fucking slob,” he mutters, kicking it further into the closet.  Keys in pocket and he’s out the door, taking a brief moment to pass by Tavros’ door and hear the unique chuckle of a certain clown.  Karkat stares, then rolls his eyes. Prays to Eldritch Gods that maybe there is nothing to worry about anymore, and makes the long trek down the stairs.

There isn’t much of a walk to a nearby coffee shop.  He remembers spotting one on his way to the dry cleaners not too long ago, a little thing without a brand. A hole in the wall next to a local publishing company.  As Karkat walks, he notes the little things, a habit that he developed from years of being obsessed with control.  There are forty-two cracks on the sidewalk on this strip alone, the air was colder than usual for a November afternoon, if he closes his eyes accidentally and walks into traffic, how long would it take him to die.

The smell of the coffee shop hits him before arriving at the actual joint.  It’s a swift awakening and suddenly his legs are carrying him faster than a walk, slower than a run, until he’s at the building letting the familiar ring of the door greet him.  The line awaiting the chance to order was ridiculous, but the frozen tips of Karkat’s fingers reminded him that he was on a mission and he might as well fucking finish it.

The shop wasn’t necessarily packed and rather quiet, but Karkat blames it on the time of day.  The door rings and closes so often that Karkat starts to find the noise more annoying than the obnoxious sound of the people talking.  His head feels like it wants to split in two.  He starts as the last in line, and as it moves toward the counter, he remains the last in line.  It’s fitting, he mulls over before frowning at himself.  There’s only one person in front of him and he can feel his nerves kick in, being so close to the end.  He licks his lips nervously, figuring out what to order.  The guy at the counter has these teeth that kept distracting him though.  He feels someone close to his back, figuring he is no longer the last in line but doesn’t bother to look back.  The boy at the counter smiles when he approaches, flashing those white rabbit teeth right at him and blinding Karkat with something that leaves his heart skipping a beat.  He opens his mouth to state his order when suddenly someone calls over him.

“Yo, John,” the voice is low, rumbling, and has Karkat whipping his head back so quick, he swears he hears the bones crack in protest.  John, the barista looks up passed Karkat, not without a nice twinkle of blue eyes behind his thick frames, to look at the male who was now currently pressing himself into Karkat’s back.  The blond laughs at his reaction, before leaning over further to converse with the worker.  Something about the game last night and how John was such a girl.

“Fucking excuse me,” he growls, getting both their attention.  John looks to him, suddenly embarrassed for being distracted. 

“I’m sorry, sir!  Dave, stop getting in the way.”

“Dave,” Karkat mutters under his breath, allowing the name to roll off his lips, a frown forming deeper on his face.  Dave shrugs, leans back and stops invading Karkat’s personal bubble.  He can feel eyes on him though, tingling his flesh and he finds himself idly scratching at his neck.

“Um, what would you like?”

“One coffee.  No cream or sugar.  Fucking black.”

John nods before typing it into the register, his fingers move quickly and gracefully against the keyboard and Karkat admires them for a moment. 

“That will be three—“

“John, you are really making this guy pay for that?”

“Huh?  Why not?”

“Look at him, he’s fucking homeless or some shit.”

“Are you fucking serious? Oh my god.”

Karkat growls.  “Fucking clever,” he grinds out, reaching for his pocket before being interrupted.

“Are you a hobo?”  John asks endearingly, his face holding such seriousness that even Karkat can’t seem to register the stupidity of the question. 

“He sure is,” comes swiftly from behind him and soon Karkat is shouting.

“What the actual fuck!  No, I’m not.  Now let me pay for this damn cup of coffee before I literally beat you two to death with this register.”  There’s a silence that follows his outburst, which gives Karkat the time to breathe out.  John laughs nervously, a slightly embarrassed look in his bright eyes.

“Sorry.  Dave, don’t be a dick.  He doesn’t look like a hobo at all!  He looks more like Matt Damon from Good Will Hunting.  He’s probably a hidden genius or something!”  Karkat doesn’t even bother with the money anymore, the sound of the snickering behind him is enough to throw him in a rage.  Instead, he gets out of line and waits by the pickup. 

The last thing he hears from those two was Dave mumbling, “He just can’t handle being in my presence man, it happens to a lot of people.”  Followed by a small, “It sure does,” by John.  The coffee comes soon, with Dave’s name scrawled on it, like the bastard paid for it and Karkat is out the door as swiftly as he entered. 

The coffee warms his finger tips and he watches his breath leave his mouth in small puffs, mourns over their death as they fade into the vastness around them all.  He wonders if he might fade too, just vanish into a million little pieces dispersed all over the world.  He hears footsteps behind him, and catches the brief reflection of Dave in the mirror of the dry cleaners.  Was this asshole following him?  Did he suspect something?  Oh god.  Did he  _know?_   Suddenly, Karkat’s legs are moving faster, his body nearly starting to lunge forward in an attempt to seem natural but get home faster.  The apartment doors open up with ease and he opts for the stairs yet again.  The trek is long but he takes it two at a time.  Judging by the echo, Dave is not too far behind him.  As soon as Karkat reaches his front floor, he turns on his heels, watches Dave emerge from the stair case and opens his mouth to scream, to call out, to warn Gamzee that someone was fucking coming, but the voice of Tavros stops him.

“Hiya, Dave,” the handicapped male greets, wheeling his way towards the two with Gamzee in tow.  Karkat feels the air leave his lungs in relief at the sight of the taller male, his nerves coming to a stop and the coffee in his hand stops shaking so fiercely.  Gamzee seems to take note of this and shoots Karkat a smile.  Although his lips are blue and cold, he feels them twitch into a mirroring smile.  Dave cuts into his view, and walks passed him to greet Tavros with a casual bump of their fists and a nod directed at Gamzee.  Tavros laughs softly.

“That’s Gamzee.  The neighbor I’ve been telling you about.  He’s a pretty swell dude.  And he’s rooming with Karkat.”  Tavros makes a vague gesture towards Karkat.  Dave nods again, turning to look at Karkat, or he thinks he is, as it’s impossible to tell with those damn shades.  Gamzee moves slowly, purposefully, until he’s standing beside Dave, looking at him with no traces of the smile he had from before, then slowly turning to look Karkat with the same serious face.  Karkat shushes him on instinct, reaching up to gently caress his cheek.  Gamzee visibly relaxes at the touch and so does he before the awkward coughing of Tavros interrupts them.  Karkat removes his hands with a blush before pointing to their apartment.

“I’ll go open the door,” he mutters under his breath, moving passed the group in the hallway.

He hears Dave say, “This is usually the time where the other guy says, ‘I’ve come to clean your pool’ or something.”  Tavros laughs and then Gamzee laughs, though Karkat suspects that it’s simply because Tavros’ laugh is contagious.

He hears heavy footsteps as the key turns in the lock and as his head turns to call Gamzee over to come inside, he sees the lanky man talking quietly to the blonde. 

“Gamzee?”  Gamzee leans back slowly, away from Dave before turning to give Karkat the most sincere smile that leaves his fingertips cold.  Gamzee shuffles inside before him and the smaller catches the look on Dave’s face before he closes the door behind him.

He looks horrified.

 

———

Karkat makes his way to the kitchen, pulls out two bowls to warm up some food for them before he can feel Gamzee’s hand on his neck, squeezing roughly, forcing him to turn around only to be shoved back against the counter. The air is knocked out of him. Their lips meet and it’s all teeth, harsh and fast and Karkat can taste blood but he can’t tell whose it is.  Gamzee’s tongue slips into his mouth and Karkat wonders if he tastes faintly of coffee still.  Gamzee doesn’t seem to mind, and with a tongue in his mouth and a hand on his throat Karkat feels as though he’s suffocating.

The two fall to the floor with the sound of grunting from Gamzee, his hand taking the blow instead of Karkat’s head.  It’s a rare act of kindness and Karkat finds himself more turned on by such than the actual kissing.  Gamzee doesn’t stay on his lips for long before his fingers are slipping under his shirt to rake his nails against the hardness of his belly and to bite harshly on his neck.  Karkat screeches, finds release in sticking blunt nails into the taller’s back, pushing down as if trying to break skin.  Gamzee licks the fresh wound, kisses it again before removing his hand from under Karkat’s shirt to down into his sweatpants.

He’s so cold on him, and Karkat is shivering worse than when he was outside. Long fingers wrap around him and he can feel himself leaking precum.  Gamzee laughs, but it sounds horrible, and quiet, like the laugh can’t come out so it’s a hoarse breathy sound inside and Karkat can’t stop himself from moaning.  His pants are off in a matter of seconds, the cool air nothing compared to the ice of Gamzee’s fingers and without intending to, he’s jutting his hips up like he wants it more than anything.  While his back arches, Gamzee’s zipper comes undone and there is a finger inside him.  His will is the only thing stopping himself from thrusting against it.  Two, then three and Karkat let’s himself enjoy the feeling of Gamzee’s fingers fucking him, enjoys Gamzee’s coldness.  Gamzee seems to approve the reaction because he’s removing his fingers quickly and pushing himself against him.  Karat reaches his arms up, signaling him to come closer as he enters and as Gamzee pushes in, he leans down into Karkat’s arms and capture’s his lips and Karkat has never felt so alive. 

The pace is brutal and Karkat starts crying because it hurts too much but it also feels too good, and this time Gamzee is the one shushing him and patting his cheek inbetween groans and hums of approval.  The slapping of flesh plays like a symphony in Karkat’s ears and as his head falls back he can see the hanging magnetic strip of kitchen knives. He wonders if he could die like this. 

He probably could.

The moment Karkat climaxes, Gamzee releases his hold on his throat, the smaller already feeling a growing bruise.  When Gamzee comes, he digs his nails so deep into Karkat’s hips that there are little droplets that fall down them.  Karkat doesn’t mind though, nearly mewls in happiness over it.

Gamzee collapses on top of him, still inside.  The wood feels cold on the exposed part of his back and his legs ache.  Karkat, with barely any energy, the coffee spilled and long forgotten, slowly reaches his arms up to wrap around Gamzee. One hand burying itself into soft black hair, a bit greasy from the lack of a shower.  He stays there and counts the tiles on the ceiling through his tears.

_One, two, three, four._


	6. Bullet Math

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Things haven't been going very well for me (timetrackGod), but luckily, Cale has been super supportive! I just wanted to let all you wonderful people know that I am now offering writing commissions on my tumblr, cervocerus! Thanks again to anyone willing, and I hope you enjoy this chapter of Tarantula Perfume!

Chapter Six – Bullet Math

_Nine little bullets sitting in the clip_  
 _The gun goes click, the gun goes click_  
 _Seven little bullets sitting in the clip_  
 _And one won’t miss, the gun goes click_

———

Despite first impressions, Tavros finds an odd feeling of safety when Gamzee comes down the hall behind him, walking steadily to the pile of groceries he was struggling to bring up.  Without a word, the lanky man bends to retrieve the majority of the bags.  The trip to his apartment is silent and Tavros struggles with finding words to fill the gap. 

Gamzee opens the door for him and he smiles in thanks, wheeling the bag on his lap towards the kitchen counter.  The two continue to work, placing things into the fridge and the pantries, and Gamzee even going as far as to place things in the freezer with care.  He’s used to this kind of work, Tavros thinks to himself, the taller male’s roommate coming to mind.  He seemed like the type to handle the housework at best. 

“Thanks for the help,” he mumbles out, embarrassed by his own shyness and almost frowning at himself for it.  The purple clad male hums in approval, before plopping down on the large round rug, messing with the deck of cards already resting there in preparation for tonight’s gathering.

“Ain’t nothin’ motherfuckin’ to it, bro,” is the low gravelly response, fingers tightening on the Joker card as he shuffles the deck.  Tavros wheels towards him, pulling himself off the chair and gingerly setting himself on the carpet as well.

“Wanna play a game?”  He only gets a lazy smile as a response, but something about it tugs Tavros in.  He’s dealing the cards in a matter of seconds, and within the hour, the two are laughing at nothing, and telling old tales of high school glory.  Mostly Gamzee, as Tavros can’t remember much of his mediocre teen years.  Gamzee, he finds, can spin wicked tales out of nothing. 

It’s evening without either of them noticing and when there’s a distant sound of movement happening in the hallway, Gamzee gets up and Travos is scrambling to get on the wheelchair.  “Wait!” he shouts hurriedly, nearly panting.  Gamzee shoots him another smile, and it’s eerie and nice.  Large hands wrap around him and he’s suddenly being lifted up and placed properly in the seat.  The blush on his cheeks burn something fierce, but he still attempts to finish his thought.  “A couple of friends are coming over soon.  You could, you know, uh, stay for a bit?”  His fingers tighten around his knees and Gamzee shrugs.

“I don’t know, my fine brother.  Gotta ask the boss.”  Tavros nods, unsure of what else to say as the two exit the apartment.  His eyes immediately fall on Dave, bundled up for the cold air with his ears burning red.  He calls out in greeting and lifts his arm, getting the rightful brush of a fist back.

It’s only then that Tavros realizes that Gamzee is no longer by his side, standing toe to toe with his good friend, a good couple of inches taller.  Something about the situation unnerves Karkat, as his eyes dart quickly inbetween the two before heading to his own apartment.  Tavros calls out, asking if he wants to stay over but Karkat's in his own frame of mind, and doesn’t acknowledge if he’s heard.  Just as the male was about to turn to Dave instead, he catches the sight of Gamzee leaning in, at the tips of his toes and the bend of his knees, muttering something that Tavros cannot hear.  The lanky man smiles, gives Tavros a parting lazy wave and is out of sight within seconds.

“What was that about?”  Dave shrugs sharply in response, his features seeming off, before he starts pushing the shorter male back into his apartment.  “Hey! You know how I hate that!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get your panties in a soaking mess.”

———

“So, you were talking to Karkat earlier, huh?”  There’s a pause from Dave as Vriska shuffles around the apartment.  She came two hours late, as usual, dragging Terezi close behind her. Now the two were messing around with his TV.  The knife in Tavros’ hand cuts the cake smoothly.  It’s oddly comforting.

“Karkat?”  Dave raises an eyebrow towards him and Tavros places the cake on his lap, wheeling his way over to the group on the floor and handing it to Vriska to put in the center, ignoring her dipping her finger in to get an early taste.

“Yeah, the neighbor I was telling you about.  You guys were in the hall together.”  It dawns on Dave, and his face pales for just a brief moment, but Tavros catches it.

“Oh, that snarky asshole?  Ran into him at the café John works at.”

That doesn’t explain anything but he doesn’t push it.  There seems to be something bothering Dave, making him more unsociable than usual.

“Where’s Jade, lover boy,”  Vriska’s voice cuts as smoothly as the knife did in the silence.  She rests her cheek on her palm and shoots him a toothy grin.  Dave rolls his eyes.

“Busy with work.  She couldn’t make it.  Told me to apologize.”

“Oh, it’s totally, uh, fine!”  Tavros smiles, gets a shrug from Dave and a cackle from Terezi to the right of him.

“That leaves the judge to think something awfully suspicious is going on!  She’s been working a lot recently, hasn’t she?” 

Vriska snorts, but quickly follows her friends train of thought.  “Bet she’s getting cozy with her boss.”

“Guys,” is the exasperated sigh, but Dave is having none of that.

“You bet, she’s cheating on me right now.  With sweet Daddy Egbert.  I cannot contain how betrayed I feel,” his arms swing about him and he sobs obnoxiously.

Tavros laughs and enjoys their company.  It’s nice to know that they all have each other no matter how long it’s been.  There’s a pause in that thought, a moment of uncertainty before he opens his mouth.  “I wonder what they’re doing now.”   

Vriska turns to give him a sly smile and a knowing look.  “Getting a little nosy on your neighbors?  How naughty!”

 

* * *

It’s cold outside, you note. 

 

It’s a chilling fear that sweeps over you as you turn into another alley, the mist falling into line around you like it belongs.  You wrap your coat around you tighter, keep your head down and stride forward without much thought.

You’ve done this a thousand times, walked home passed these familiar twists and turns of buildings, right to your apartment complex.  So, why did you feel so  _off_ _,_  like something heavy was looming over you?  Something thick and crisp in the air that leaves a nasty residue in your throat after you breathe. 

“Honk.” 

The noise sends you ten feet into the air before a deep chuckle follows it.  You stare at the man, his hood hiding the shadows of his face.  You can make out some color, white, maybe grey, etched into his skin.  It makes you feel like there are tiny little insects with tiny little legs crawling down the inside of your skin and resting down near the bones of your legs.  You laugh nervously with him, because it’s funny, standing there and scaring people at night is funny.

You don’t say anything else before moving again, with more force in each step, the pace increasing as you leave the freak behind you, turning another corner.  You hear the gentle pat of someone following you briefly, but a whip of your head and the near snap of your neck tells you otherwise.   You breathe out slowly.

This is what your therapist warned about when you started that new medication— an acute sense of paranoia.  There’s nothing to worry about. There are people living in these many buildings, and nothing is going to happen.  The steps are getting louder as you move.

You don’t bother to look back.

You’re running faster than before, the sound of your high heels smacking against the pavement echoes like screaming and you fear you’ll join the choir.  You can’t hear anything, but your heart is pounding so loud, you doubt you can hear much else over it.

You turn a corner, one left, two rights and you are nearly three seconds away from your building.  You’ll make it, call your brother, calm yourself and laugh later.  You stop at the door, reach into your pocket to pull the keys.  They shine alone in the moonlight and as you stick one into the lock, something hard and cold collides with your skull.

You black out.

It’s the movement that gets you stirring again, the feeling of your body being dragged down the small flight of stairs that lead to the side door of your apartment.  You’re even surprised you remember it’s your building, and suddenly, his voice is ringing in your ears like a siren.

“Hush, motherfucker, hush.  The moment’s up and coming.”  You haven’t realized you’ve been moaning as he drags you.  Your head collides with another concrete stair and you’re coughing up blood.  He bends down and pats you, stops momentarily, and it’s oddly comforting considering your situation.

“Please,” you manage to whimper as you reach the ground, the man letting go of your ankle.  He shakes his head at you. 

Just shakes his head like he’s seen it all before and you’re not even trying.

You’ll never forget, if you ever get out of this alive, the feeling of having a finger cut off.  You can’t scream. You’re overwhelmed and he laughs, so sweet and deep and off pitch that your ears feel like bleeding.  Luckily, your skull has taken the liberty for them, and you wiggle what isn’t there in panic.

You don’t know how long you’ve been there, how long parts of your body had started to disappear.  The voice is what gets you going, the sound of someone approaching.  You nearly start to cry in delight, someone is coming to save you. Jesus fucking christ. Someone will save you. The male looks at you and you know he can see the relief you feel in your eyes before he frowns and smashes his foot in your face, successfully cracking your nose and silencing you.

“What the fuck, Gamzee?” 

Gamzee.  That’s his name, you memorize it, repeat it over and over like a prayer.   Gamzee the clown, Gamzee the murderer, Gamzee, Gamzee, Gamzee.

Your body is crumpled on the floor and you can’t move, don’t even bother.  The tears that fall from your face go unnoticed once you connect that no, this person isn’t here to save you.  He’s here to scold— of all things— the murderer, wiggle his finger like it’s a minor affair.  Like it’s a joke.  He shouting now, and you can barely register anything due to the blood clogging your ears. The newcomer’s shorter.

You hadn’t realized it was raining until you notice the umbrella in his hands, red and burning bright in the dark.  Gamzee shrugs, mutters something and shoots him a smile, completely different from the one he gave you just moments ago.

It’s weird to feel jealous when you’re about to die.

“Go home,” the shorter male mutters.  The taller doesn’t speak, just nods and starts shuffling away.  Before he leaves, the male turns to him.  “Did you touch her?”

The clown honks, like it’s a fucking word, and exposes the gloves on his hands, the newcomer nods before waving him off.  He’s walking up to you now.  His body is thin, and you can see the way he hunches over and stop and think, maybe he  _is_  here to save you.  He looks down at you with pity before you blink and moan.  He stops dead in his tracks and stares at you, looks at what’s left of you and frowns.

“He didn’t finish you off.” 

You freeze, you both freeze and you can’t tell if it’s because your body can no longer form the energy to spasm or because he’s just as shocked as you.  He approaches you quickly now, and you notice the change.  He no longer hunches, his back is firm, his grip on the umbrella tightens.  He walks with a purpose, like he has a duty to serve.

As he stands over you, and you notice his eyes are red.

 _An angel._ He’s going to kill you.

Red eyes narrow.  “Fuck,” he mutters before gripping the umbrella with both hands. The metal spike runs into your eye and scratches your brain with no apology, no pity.  You think he’s worse than his friend.

You stare at red and black even as you die, wondering if anyone will ever find your body.

 


	7. James Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are always greatly appreciated and thanks for sticking with us!

Chapter Seven – James Dean

_I’d always thought that I’d die young._  
 _Make some money, be someone._  
 _They all love you when you’re gone._  
 _But who knew life would be so long?_

———

Dave tastes salt on his tongue, permanent and obvious and it annoys him when his eyes focus on the ceiling above him.  The bed is empty other than him and Bec, who shoots him a withering look.  Jade must have left too early to feed the mutt.  Groaning, Dave shoves the dog off the bed with his feet as he stretches, only to turn on his side and attempt to sleep again.  Red burns behind his eyelids, bright and colorful like a firework, an explosion of something he can’t quite understand.  He’s slipping away into unconsciousness when a flash of purple streaks in his mind and he’s sitting up so quick, the world spins wrong for a moment.  Wide eyes scan the room once more and except for the panting dog at the edge of the bed, he’s alone. The sun leaking in from the edges of the curtains, just like cracks in the concrete lead into forever. 

He’s swift, practically rips the covers off of his bare body, the chill hitting his naked skin and making him shiver slightly.  Despite the cold air, Dave still takes a cold shower.  Let’s the water run down his skin, twisting and turning against the distant ache of his muscles.  He opens his mouth, lets it fill up with water like he carries the ocean with his words and then spits it out like a sailor.  He goes about washing his hair, shampoo first, clear out. Jade won’t mind him using hers, and he doesn't bother with conditioning.  Meanwhile he lets his thoughts wander. Wander to Tavros’ get together yesterday night, that moment in the hall, that fucking clown.

  _“The real thing’s better than a photo, right?”_

Dave bites his lips, and despite himself, hums in agreement.  It was an accident, running into Karkat at John’s place.  He wasn't even really hoping to talk much to his best friend anyway; a bit sour from the lack of writing he’s gotten done.  And there he was, all legs and broad shoulders and messy hair.  This time, when Dave looked, he wasn't taken back by the bruises under his eyes.  He stared too long, he knows it.  There was something about him, something fleeting and on the tip of his tongue. Sitting there like a misplaced thought that just made Dave gravitate towards him, crave his attention like a child and egging him on.

Yet that tall man, his roommate, had noticed it too.  Noticed it and laughed right in Dave’s face.  The thought of it makes Dave’s blood burn hot, the cold water long forgotten as he grits his teeth.  He didn't even realize how effected he was, how much that shit must have been turning in his head, like a ship trapped in a whirlpool.  He spits out more water.

Tavros might not have noticed, but Dave knew exactly what those two did behind closed doors. He bet that clown didn't even let Karkat make it to the bedroom, just took him right there on the goddamn floor and Dave doesn't know why he’s fucking thinking about these things, just knows that he’s breathing harder, that a hand is creeping its way down his body.  He wonders how they did it, what faces they made, how Karkat’s face would look pressed against the tiled floor. Pushed down by Dave’s hand and panting, pleading with those eyes that were practically as red as his own.  He doesn't even notice that he’s touching himself.

He bets Karkat would either be a screamer or extremely silent, would probably beg Dave to put his fingers in his mouth, to gag him so he wouldn't whine so loud.  He’d breathe out of his nose, heavy and hot and saliva would drip down his chin and Dave could see himself leaning down to lick it off before taking his fingers back and replacing them with his tongue.  He spits, but he can’t tell if it’s water or saliva.  He’s close, he knows it.  Bec is barking about something but all Dave can focus on are quiet little pants and whines and groans and big red eyes staring up at him.  He’s so fucking close.

Then suddenly, dream Karkat isn't looking so virginal anymore. He’s smirking.  It’s cruel how it twists at the corners of his mouth, harsh and cynical.  The voice is sing-songy and Dave can’t understand why he hears both Karkat’s and Gamzee’s voices at the same time.

_“Would you die for me, Dave?”_

He comes harder than he has in the last three weeks. 

Jade calls him from the kitchen to announce that she’s home.

Bec barks appreciatively.  Probably for the food.

———

If Equius is the brawn of the situation then Nepeta is without a doubt, the brains.  And in Dave’s professional opinion, he’d much rather converse with the latter on any given day.  Unfortunately, as the doors to the homely café swing open due to a swift kick with his foot, he makes eye contact with the former.  Or tries to, at least, as they are both wearing goddamn shades in a dimly lit building.  Dave thinks the irony covers for the sheer amount of stupidity of it all.

He moves to sit at the usual table, not bothering to order as he hears the gentle laughter of the Detective and John by the counter.  One of them will notice that he’s here, and a cup of coffee will magically appear before him on the table.  In the meantime, he shoots a smirk at the muscular cop in front of him.

“Sup, Eq.”

“It’s Equius.  Please refrain from using such lewd forms of my name.”

Dave doesn't even swallow enough air to talk before the dark haired man is off at him. “Mister Strider.  As you know, due to your particular profession, the police force does not normally divulge secrets about an open case under heavy investigation to people of the press.  As an officer, and a loyal man of duty,  I am deeply troubled that our Detective, although brilliant, trusts a questionable man such as yourself to not only  _not_  go to the media, but to also involve informative notions on the case in order to further it.”

Half way through that monologue, Dave’s mind went somewhere else.  They’ve done this countless times, Nepeta being an old friend from college.  She’d come in whenever a case twisted her tongue, and they would bounce ideas off of each other before a solution clicked in her cute little head.  Something Dave admires and envies all the same.  The only difference between then and now is that, due to her advancement in positions, she’s got a lapdog with her.  A bulging sack of muscle with a permanent scowl and an obvious crush on his superior. 

 

“If it were up to me, I would rather leave you out the picture entirely—Mister Strider? Are you even listening to me?”

Dave waves his hand lazily to acknowledge the bloke before giving the approaching female a small smile.  It is returned with ten times it’s power and Dave wonders how Equius, even with his shades, hasn’t gone blind from it yet.

She plops herself down on the seat next to the cop, their height difference only comedic in comparison to their difference in status.  Nepeta hands a cup of coffee to Dave, but not before showing him the little cat John had managed to doodle on her own cup for her. 

“It’s purrfect,” she hums, sticking her tongue out to lap the milky liquid.  Dave humors her, meows and does an exaggerated pawing motion.  She laughs a little too loud.

Suddenly her expression cools, green eyes turning to stone as she’s leaning back.  “Last night, there was a body found in the junction of Ford and Howard, twelve meters into the forest preserve.” 

Dave swallows a little too loud.

“Who was it?”

“Lab will tell us soon enough,” Equius grunts.  So this time they couldn’t identify the victim immediately.  Dave cringes.  It was that fucking bad.

“When did it happen?”

Nepeta signals the cop under her with a flick of her wrist and soon a muscular hand is pulling a manila file folder out of the duffel bag.  He lets it fall to the table before opening it up and spreading some pictures taken of the crime scene before the body was removed and then afterwards.  “Despite the cleansing that the rain caused, I’d bet it was fairly new.  Maybe three hours earlier.”

Dave looks at the photos of the body, looks at the missing limbs and the curves of ribs sticking out of it’s chest.  He tries to see the face, but the photo was taken in the rain and all he can see is the bluing of skin and the strangely peaceful look in the victim’s eyes.   _Acceptance._

It makes Dave shiver.

“No witnesses, I figure.”

Nepeta shakes her head, moving to lean forward.  “No, but the marks and the style is a bit famous.  I’m sure you’ve seen it before.  In fact, aren’t you writing about it?”

It’s true, Dave thinks, and she _would_ know something about that.  She probably talked to Rose before even setting up this meeting.  The girl’s smart like that.

“That I am.”

“What do you think?”

“Other than the obvious? The killer’s still in town.”

Equius’ shoulders rise, as if he’s about to laugh at Dave’s “contribution” to the investigation but Nepeta interrupts him.  “We’ve already come to the same conclusion.  There’s no way the suspect had time to high-tail it out of here and judging by how the media has already released some limited information about the incident, it would be too risky for someone to attempt to sneak out of the city now.”

Dave nods.  “You mean, two people.”

This gets both of their attention and Equius’ shoulders fall.  “Excuse me, but what do you mean by two people?”

“The killer?  It’s not just one person.”

Nepeta’s eyes are trained on him, like a feline ready to pounce as they narrow, almost threateningly.  “Explain, Dave.”  The way she says his name, as she holds the last sound of the ‘v’ is almost like a purr.

“The killings were always done with zero organization, limbs everywhere, and no signature marks.  Yet despite all that struggle and bloodshed, the scene of the crime is always spotless?  Perfectly clean.  Does that sound like the same person to you?  The only option would be that there are actually two cats in this mouse chase.  One for the murder, and one for the cleanup.  That would make perfect sense.”  He takes a sip of his coffee before continuing.  “I think that this murder was either interrupted or rushed, which would give the reason to the blow to the head.”

Equius coughs and Dave sighs.

“The killer never let's his victims die that easily.  They’re always left out to bleed to death.  Yet, here,” he points to the report.  “It claims that the person died due to a clear blow to the head, with something narrow and sharp. Probably a pick or a knife. Something easy to handle.”

“So,” Nepeta murmurs, “You’re saying that maybe the cleanup crew had to handle it.”

Dave nods.  “Which would explain the immediate death.  Since they were pressed for time, the usual efficiency of the cleaning was lessened and the second guy must have figured the rain would do most of the job. They dragged the body to the new location and let it sink in the mud.”

“What makes you think the body was moved?”

“The person’s barefoot.  Either they left their shoes in their fucking forest home with all the other woodland creatures, or they were removed when attempting to run and were left behind.  I’d search anything in a three mile radius. I bet you’ll find a lonely pair of shoes without any feet.”

Nepeta’s phone goes off and everyone jumps.  Dave hadn’t noticed how close they all were to each other, how they huddled they had gotten as they spoke, hanging on every word.  Nepeta answers in the next moment, her voice strictly professional before getting up and allowing Equius to help put on her coat.  She finishes with a curt “yes” before hanging up and shooting Dave a winning grin. 

“Thanks for this conversation, Dave.  It’s shed some light on some inpurresting topics.”

“Glad I could help,” he mutters into his coffee before the folder is being slid over to him.  He raises an eyebrow.  Equius looks at Nepeta with visible concern.

“Keep the photos, in case it jogs something in your head later, Mister Strider.  Detective’s orders!”  Nepeta is already turning to the door but Dave shoots her a two fingered salute anyway.  She turns slightly, returning one of her own before walking out, the taller man on her heels. 

———

Dave arrives at Tavros’ apartment building an hour later, ready to speak with the wheelchair bound man about everything that had just occurred.  Tavros surprisingly loved this kind of stuff, and ate it up like candy. 

He reaches his floor via the stairs, only to reach the very last step and run into someone that he rather wished he didn’t.  Dark red eyes meet his shades and there’s a scowl slowly being etched into soft cheeks.  “Fuck, sorry.”  It takes Dave back a bit, that there isn’t an insult or a threat there for him.  Karkat’s even bending down silently to pick up all the shit that fell out of their hands in the collision.  He wonders if maybe the shorter one is not a morning person or that maybe after sex, gets kind of indifferent to his surroundings.  Dave doesn’t even notice that Karkat had stopped moving. 

“You alright down there.”

There’s something in his hands.  Something small, a photo.  Dave realizes it immediately and snatches it from his pale fingers.  Sure enough, a blurry case photo of the newly murdered victim rested in the shot.  He looks at Karkat carefully as the male slowly gets up from his place on the floor, his eyes wide and his lips parted in a silent gasp before all the color drains out from his face.  He figures that the guy must not be able to stomach gore.

Not another word is exchanged between them as the young man turns on his heel and heads straight back to his apartment, shutting the door harshly behind him.  Dave shrugs it off after another moment, and shuffles to the door across the hall.


	8. Creep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mortal Kombat in fanfiction world has that end sequence. Wanna tussle?!  
> PS--Sorry for the late chapter. Life gets in the way of the fun stuff sometimes.

Chapter Eight – Creep

_I wish I was special_

_You’re so fucking special  
But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo  
What the hell am I doing here?_

_I don’t belong here._

———

When Tavros first moved into his apartment, nearly two years ago, his major problem was how high the counter was. How he had to sit at the edge of his wheelchair just to touch the end of it.  He used to complain about it to Vriska, who was living with him at the time, and she would only cackle at his misfortune. Shine her sharp teeth at him as though his existence was the joke of the universe.  He used to grit his teeth and bare it but he hardly notices the inconvenience now, his fingers moving quick, food falling into place as the water boils a couple of feet away from him. 

The carrots are always a little difficult to cut, his knives a bit duller in comparison to how they were two years ago but really, what self-respecting man would sharpen his knives regularly?  He had other manlier things to do, like struggle to get out of bed every morning or try to stand up in the shower because maybe today will be the day that he can feel his legs. Feel the weight he’ll put on them, and take his first step in nearly two years of being stuck and move forward.  Sometimes, sometimes he feels as dead as his legs are.  When he sits on the edge of his bed in the morning only to realize that the night before, as he got into it, he'd kicked his chair a little bit farther than what was reachable.  He doesn’t cry about it anymore though. He’s passed that stage in the healing process.  It’s just that, one day, he can clearly imagine it, the feeling of waking up, swinging his legs out of bed and not waiting to hear the dull expected thunk of them hitting the metal frame.

The carrots are done and he nearly nicks his fingers in thought.  Tavros moves to put them in the soon-to-be soup, the pot set at a low height to allow him to see the top.  He covers it, and moves to wheel himself towards the bathroom only to be interrupted by a knock on the door.  It’s quick and almost unnoticeable and yet it echoes, rings a bit, and it makes Tavros wonder whether the person on the other side of the wood really wants him to answer it.  He doesn’t give them a chance to change their mind though, shouting a quick “Coming!” before moving to push the chair towards the barrier between him and whoever stands. 

Of all the people who could come to see him, Tavros never would have expected Karkat to be standing there. Looking nervously at his own hands and cloaked in that hood he’s only seen him in on the first day he showed up, with Gamzee in tow.  Karkat looks up, looks at Tavros’ face but not at his eyes, anywhere but his eyes and gives a nervous smile that barely dents his face.  If Tavros didn’t know better, it’d look like he was about to cry.

“Hey.”  Despite his lowered demeanor, Karkat’s voice is strong. It cuts through the air sharply.  It contrasts Tavros’ reply, the crack in it making him scold himself.

“Um, hey?”

“So, I was in the neighborhood and,”

“You literally live like, three doors down.”

“I fucking know that,” the frown looks more natural on his face, like he was born for it.  The Messiah of frowns.

“And…?”

“And I was thinking, if you’re free…”

The off sound of the soup pot screaming pulls Tavros from this most interesting conversation completely against his will, of course.  “Hold that thought,” but before he’s about to back away, he gives Karkat a once over before signaling him to follow him inside.   “Do me a solid and close the door after you, would you?” 

He wheels so that his back is towards the young man as he heads over to the stove.  He hears the door click behind him and shakes his head with a small smile.  At least he can follow orders.

He tends to the soup, acknowledging the other as he sits at the kitchen table, but focuses mostly on the task at hand.  Tavros figures that the thin man was probably bored being all cooped up in his apartment.  He hardly ever ventures outside, Tavros notes, except for essentials such as groceries and laundry.  “So uh, what do you do for a living?”  Idle chitchat, a good way to start anything.

“Live mostly,” comes the grunted response.  Tavros doesn’t say anything more and after another minute Karkat continues.  “My dad was a well off man, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Well, I didn’t really know him.”  Stay clear of that conversation topic, he notes, the mood in the room suddenly growing a bit too heavy.  Instead, Tavros grins a bit before craning his head to look at the male, his guest was currently resting his head on the wooden table top.

 

“Hey! What did the sushi say to the bee?”

“What?”  Tavros continues, even with the curt response.

“Wasabi!”

Karkat’s face stares back at him, emotionless, before a small snarl forms and his eyes narrow.  “That’s more of Gamzee’s humor.  Though I’m sure you already knew that.”  Tavros’ mouth shuts quick, the sound of which rattles the room in the silence between them.

What the fuck was that, he thinks.  A threat?  Did he just get angry at him for telling a fucking joke?  Tavros chews his lip in annoyance at the thought, stirring the soup pot much faster than he needed to.  Karkat mumbles something under his breath but Tavros doesn’t have the heart to ask him what it was.

Suddenly, there’s a flash of movement and Karkat is staring at the small TV set on the ground.  “Is that a Nintendo?” 

Tavros turns off the stove before looking back at him.  “Huh?  Oh yeah, it’s the best right?”

“Literally.  Shit man, I haven’t played one of these in…”

“In…?”

“In forever?”

“Are you  _shitting_  me!?  Dude, plug that baby in!”

It doesn’t take long for the two of them to set it up, the old thing having gained it’s share of dust.  Tavros has only played with it a couple of times as most of his friends are not really into gaming, especially Dave with his losing streak.  Mortal Kombat is the immediate choice and in a matter of minutes, both parties are shouting at the screen in anger and joy.

“What is even fucking happening to me?!” Karkat nearly screams, glaring at the losing count he has going on, every single time.  Tavros only grins before playfully punching him in the arm.

“It’s ‘cause you suck.”

Challenge shines in his red eyes as he grins back. “Fuck you, Sherlock.”  

They’re both laughing, and giving each other playful smackes and grinning like fools and there’s something in the way Karkat’s smile reaches his eyes that Tavros thinks the other probably hasn’t felt like this in a very long time.  And that’s something that makes this situation so wonderful. 

After a few hours of button mashing, Karkat hums, “I haven’t played in so long.”

“Why’s that?  You’re obviously enjoying yourself.”

“I just don’t have the time, really.  We move around plenty.”

Tavros doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just shrugs. Says that he feels him, bro, because he does.  Before his legs went bad, before the rest of him slowly followed suit, he used to not have time too.  Used to be a part of the team, and always moving about.  Yet, the military wasn’t a place for children and broken toys. 

“So how did you meet Gamzee?”  Tavros asks, coming particularly close to losing, only to win again by sheer luck.  Karkat was slowly getting better.

“We were in high school together.  He was in the same year as me.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah, he was kind of a loser.”

“Ha ha, and you?”

“Shit, I was a fucking genius.  I was talking all AP classes.  A straight up straight-A genius.”

“Whoa, are you serious?”

“Yeah, but one thing leads to another and here I am.”

Tavros doesn’t press further and Karkat never asks him about his legs. And for some reason, Tavros really appreciates it.

———

The last game is completed and Karkat gets up to stretch, Tavros throwing the controller down.  It was already the afternoon, and they’ve been playing since early that morning.  “Hey man, thanks for having me over.”

Tavros shrugs, moving to open the door for the other on his way out.  “I think we both needed it, bro.”

“Hey. You wouldn’t happen to have Dave’s address, would you?”  The question seems weird, dropped suddenly into fleeting conversation.  Tavros thinks nothing of it, just grabs an old receipt and scribbles it on the back.  “Thanks again, man.”  Karkat mumbles warmly on his way out.

“No problem!” The taller cranes his neck before shooting him a genuine smile, the complete opposite of what he came in with.  Tavros can’t help but grin back.  “I’ll see you sometime?”  The question sparks a look in the other’s eyes that the cripple can’t quite identify before he’s getting a smaller smile back.

“Maybe.”

The door closes and Tavros goes to clean the gaming area, picking up the controllers that littered the floor.  He looks up at the screen and notices that he lost, for the very first time since they’ve started playing this morning.  The end scene of the game was playing on repeat, Karkat’s character punching until his own lay lifeless on the floor.  Pixilated blood spreading around him, Karkat’s character raising a fist, bloody and bruised in triumph, the familiar flashing of  _‘YOU ARE DEAD’_ playing hypnotically.  Something about it felt odd, eerie even.  He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he’s unplugging the system faster than he realizes. 

He goes back into the kitchen and puts some soup in a bowl.  He sits down and looks at it, looks at the cut up carrots and the red of the tomato juice and all he sees when he blinks are the flashing blue and red pixels of  _’YOU ARE DEAD’_  behind his eyes.  He’s long passed the stage of crying about it, but when he tries to stand in the shower later that day, he can’t help but feel his eyes grow blurry with something he won’t admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't care if it hurts  
> I wanna have control  
> I want a perfect body  
> I want a perfect soul


	9. Contagious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sup guys, Cale here posting this chapter for Sonny who is currently away atm. Bet you thought it was dead didn't you? LAUGHS.

Chapter Nine – Contagious

_I’m going to tear out the thread one by one from your skin._  
 _Till your bones feel embarrassed from all the attention._  
 _Kiss me while I drive._

———

Dave feels the cold of his fingers first before he notices how empty the bed is. It creaks under the weight of his shame when he shifts and watches Bec bark at nothing for a couple of minutes before attempting to shush him. He’s frozen, like a statue and he can hardly blame this on the weather anymore. Jade isn’t beside him, he doesn’t have to check to know. She works late nights and he’s gotten used to the loud ticking of lonely clocks. With grueling effort, Dave gets himself upright, watches his feet touch the bland wood of the floor and wonders if he’s feeling empty. The thought is cast away with the sudden sound of harsh knocking. 

It’s weird, inhuman, like the person behind the door can’t figure out a rhythm. Dave heard a rumor once when he was younger, that people unconsciously knock to the beat of their own heartbeats. That when you’re nervous, you knock quickly and when you’re calm, it’s a gentle rap. Bec’s stopped barking, opting instead to fall asleep in Dave’s place on the bed once the blond stood up. He watches the fluffy monster make itself comfortable, even going so far as to stick his tongue out at him in mock displeasure. Picking up an old shirt from the chair beside the entrance of the bedroom, Dave makes his way passed the bathroom and living room, to the kitchen, with the door just a mere few feet away from him. He sets the coffee pot to boil but notes that the maker hasn’t even been started yet. Only then, in his lucid awakened state does he realize that it isn’t Jade who’s knocking. That this atrocity of a rhythm, that fucked up heartbeat, wasn’t coming from the woman that he lived with. 

Something malicious and slow crawls up Dave’s spine as he hears the knocking again, and he can’t figure out why. Why he hears something horrid from behind his own door, why he woke up cold, or why he can’t hear the loud ticking of his loneliness over the inconsiderate intruder.

Dave shuffles towards the door, the sleek wood doing nothing to comfort him as he places his hand on the handle. In a last ditch effort, he calls out. His voice having rid of the thick accent of slumber, replaced with the alertness of an animal before the hunt. 

“Who is it?”

There is something shifting on the other side. The soft sounds of sneakers rubbing against the floor and the rustling of clothing. Dave gives it a minute before calling out once again. 

He gets an answer this time.

“It’s Karkat.” The voice is thin, soft and nearly pleasant to his ears but Dave knows better. He’s smarter than that, and despite the intense desire he has to open the door, to grab the boy by the hair and yank him inside— he isn’t dumb.

“Well, it’s one in the fucking morning Karkat.”

“I was working up the courage to see you.” 

Dave knows it’s a lie, knows that on instinct somehow, even though he’s only known the guy for a couple of days. It feels longer than that. He’s cruel, toying with something that he isn’t sure exists but can’t say no to. Can’t think of something witty and cool so instead he let’s the harsh sound of the lock turning and the handle twisting lull him into thinking that this is the right thing to do. 

Sure enough, Karkat stands before him, thin body nearly curled in itself. His dark circles seem more intense than ever before and Dave nearly feels pity in his gut before he shoots it down pointblank. He only raises an eyebrow at the male. Karkat narrows his eyes and Dave notes that they aren’t red, just a dull brown. It’s disappointing really, the thought that maybe he’s made Karkat out to be something that he’s not and that _he’s_ a monster. He steps aside, allows the boy to shuffle in and holds back the urge to rip that fucking hood off his head. To have a good look at him, to really see him.

Karkat doesn’t remove his shoes when he enters and Dave wants to call him out on it but instead he gets an eyeful of brown as the other turns and faces him completely. “Are you a reporter or something?”

The question comes out of fuck if he knows where, and it has the blond stumbling for words as he makes his way back to the kitchen. Karkat closes the door and follows silently behind him. The fact that Dave can’t hear his footsteps behind him has him feeling uneasy. Anxious, though he doesn’t know why. He grabs the coffee pot and pours two cups before handing one to Karkat. The boy takes it without a sound, but his eyes are telling Dave a million things he can’t understand. He wants to puke.

“Yeah, I am. Why?”

“Just notice that you take a lot of pictures.”

“It’s what I do, yeah.”

It’s awkward, forced and there’s something beautiful with how lean Karkat is, that he can see the slight twitch of muscles underneath the sleeves, how perfect his fingers seem to wrap around the cup. Dave can’t stop himself from imaging them wrapping around his neck. He’s turned on, and he shouldn’t be. He gulps a mouthful of coffee, let’s it burn his tongue and sink down his throat like a ship full of sailors. He’s drowning in the ruined emptiness of the apartment and he wonders how Karkat would look as a lifeboat.

Karkat continues to sip his coffee, gingerly. His eyes are looking down at their feet and his cheeks look almost blue from the cold outside. Dave can’t stop himself from reaching out and touching one. Karkat doesn’t jump, just looks up at him quietly with hollow brown eyes and then he turns his head. Placing a ghost of a kiss on his fingers. Dave unconsciously licks his lips. He pulls his hand away. Karkat puts the mug down before turning his body around slightly. “Do you have a bathroom?”

Dave snaps out of his stupor, points to his bedroom, and mumbles that it’s in there. To the right. Karkat only nods, his eyes not leaving Dave’s as he walks out. Dave sinks down to the floor as soon as he’s alone. He can see the signs. He’s becoming obsessed, addicted and it’s not healthy. He knows better. Fuck. Rose would be furious with him. Especially with the recent string of murders, he shouldn't be focused on trying to have an affair with another fucking guy when he’s been with Jade for so damn long. He only needs to work the case, find the pieces, put it together until he can find the secret behind it all. Instead he’s here, listening to the sounds of rustling in his own bathroom. The opening of a drawer, the flush of a toilet, the run of a sink.

Karkat comes out just a moment later, looking more nervous than when he had originally arrived. “I have to go.”

Dave’s ears perk up. “What? So soon?”

“Yeah, something came up.”

Dave doesn’t remember when he stood up, can’t figure out how Karkat got so close to him but suddenly they’re kissing. They are kissing and Karkat has a hand wrapped around his throat just like he imagined it would be and he kisses like he’s dying. It’s everything he ever wanted and it’s everything he’s ever feared and fuck, Karkat’s lips are probably his best feature.

There is a slight brush of tongues before he’s pulling away again, Karkat leaning against the wall right beside the door, his lips swollen slightly. It’s there that Dave finally sees it, clear as day, his eyes are burning redder than the wine you drink in church. They’re practically glowing in the dark, and it’s so beautiful that Dave leans down to kiss him again. The fingers haven’t left his throat but he feels them tighten ever so slightly. It’s perverse how much he loves it, and soon little pecks become open-mouthed kisses and he can feel the heat roll off the younger in waves. He doesn’t feel cold. He can’t even hear the clocks.

Karkat kisses like he knocks, like his heart beats. There’s no pattern to it, no rhythm and it’s exhilarating and Dave can’t stop himself from thinking that Gamzee must be just as fucking fascinated as _he is_ by this if the two of them live together. He tries to shove that fucking creep out of his mind as he focuses on the boy in front of him. Fingers are still gripping his neck, and he feels that just a little more pressure would cause him to gasp, might even leave a bruise and he’s only slightly worried. Karkat seems to have a better grip on reality than he does because soon he’s backing away. His eyes are ablaze now and Dave can’t stop staring at them.

“You should keep your business to yourself, Dave.” It’s the first time he hears his name roll from those lips and he savors it sweetly. Karkat doesn’t say anything more before he opens the door and leaves. Dave leans heavily against the frame when he’s gone, feeling vaguely like he’s lost something but can’t figure if it holds any importance or not.

He realizes Karkat isn’t the lifeboat that’s come to save him from his shallow death in a lonesome sea.

He’s the fucking siren.

* * *

Tavros opens the door a fraction later than what Gamzee prefers, but he keeps that fact to himself. Instead he takes a moment to enjoy the sudden grin that graces the shorter male’s face. “Hey, Gamzee. What’s up?” Gamzee shrugs his shoulders, Tavros gives him room to enter, and the two of them head over to the TV without another word. Despite having known each other for such a short amount of time, they’ve almost fallen into a sort of routine. Once Gamzee finds a comfortable spot on the floor, he lulls his head and lazily faces the other. 

“How’s it hanging, my brother?” The shorter laughs, his voice nearly squeaking in a way that Gamzee finds cute. He doesn’t comment on it, holds his tongue like he does for so many other things, always tight lipped, sprouting secrets. He’s good at keeping secrets. He has to be. So is Karkat, maybe even better. He used to tell Gamzee that sometimes his eyes give off too much, a bit ironic coming from him but Gamzee doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind a lot of things about Karkat. And he’s starting to not mind Tavros, too.

“Things are great!” Gamzee hadn’t even realized that the other started talking again, so he refocuses himself with a large grin plastered over his face. “Karkat came over earlier.”

His attention is snatched up like a fish in the talons of a hawk, and even Tavros could comment on the way that Gamzee’s eyes turn sharp as he turns to face him again. “Really? Shit, man. I haven’t seen the little crab all day.”

Tavros laughs nervously, as though he feels he made a mistake by even mentioning it. Instead, he continues on cheerfully. “He stopped by for a bit. Hung out some. He didn’t leave not too long ago.”

“Brother always got places to be, people to see.”

More nervous laughter. “Yeah.”

Gamzee has gotten pretty good at this, already changing the topic and soon the two of them are laughing at nothing again and Tavros is insisting the taller stay for a late night meal. Gamzee doesn’t even attempt to refuse and soon he’s enjoying a soup with such delicious flavoring, that he thinks that this might actually work. That Tavros is going to be a good pal. That for once, Karkat will let them stay, and Tavros could eventually warm up to the idea of who he and Gamzee actually are. But this is all just wishful thinking, he knows. He knows because this has happened once before, with Karkat’s friend. So Gamzee sips his soup and sings songs of praise and Tavros absorbs it all without a single thought of suspicion in his mind.

Gamzee likes that kind of thinking, unguarded and naked. He used to feel that way too, before Karkat pulled him out the abyss and woke him up. It’s a naivety that can’t be faked, and something that both him and Karkat had lost all too long ago. It’s extremely beautiful and terribly fragile. _Weak._ Gamzee knows that if he just reached out a hand, with Tavros in mid-joke and simply wrapped his fingers around that throat. Just held them there for a fraction too long, long enough to watch the colors shift and switch. Tavros’ eyes would be very different then, filled with a knowing look that burned through the loss of his naivety. Then he’d be looking back at him with Gamzee’s own eyes.

When he moves in to kiss him, it’s slightly weird for both. Sudden and misshapen and off and yet wonderful because Tavros closes his eyes and puckers his lips and there’s everything that Karkat is not in his whole movement. In his whole way of life. Gamzee thinks he’s a little drunk on him, a little lost in his wonder and can do nothing about it but open his eyes as their lips meet and watch it happen. He watches and the romance is lost for him, but Tavros is happy and there’s something growing inside of him that he can’t quite understand. Gamzee is scared for some reason.

They separate and it’s quiet for a moment, a hanging joke in the silence, some more nervous laughter. Gamzee continues to eat as if nothing had happened, and smiles brighter at the jokes the other starts to continue. They fall right back into routine and Gamzee wants to hold him and wants to punch him and wants to smother him. But he doesn’t know with what.

Gamzee leaves a bit later in the night, hugs the little dude, tells him he’s a wonderful neighbor and then trudges back into his apartment. Karkat still isn’t home yet and that’s irritating. He grits his teeth and walks to the kitchen. Maybe Karkat’s out shopping for food, but that’s impossible because their fridge is full and where the fuck is Karkat where the fuck _is_ he.

He should be here.

He’s _always_ fucking here.

Gamzee doesn’t know where all the inexplicable anger is bubbling up from but it’s burning his flesh and he can see his bones pull up through the holes. He doesn’t know when he started biting the skin on his knuckles but he’s feeling completely wrong and Karkat is always here but he’s not here now and not being here now is important. It’s very important and Gamzee doesn't know why but Karkat does and he would know and if he was here with him now he would tell him and fuck.

Fuck.

_FUCK._

———

When the door finally clicks open, Gamzee spits something dark and thick onto the floor and then opens his mouth to scream.


	10. I Sat By the Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat's lips are swollen against his, but he bets it is from the fists he took to the face rather than his desire to be held.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lepo: Wow, this is a surprise. To both you and I, dear awesome readers. There is an update. It's nearly been forever and an update has wormed its way into the sunlight. Jesus fuck, we are both sorry. Life got in the way, falling outs happened with Homestuck, but together, with those awesome reviews that came even without an update, we did it. We pushed each other (mainly Cale pushed me because god I needed it from them so bad) and finally produced the next chapter! The others are in work and will be done at a more timely manner, I promise. Thank you for all the continued support! Stay gold, Ponyboys.

_They slip through your fingertips_  
 _Because they never happened to you_  
 _Time wounds all the heals  
_ _As we fade out of view_

 

———

Karkat doesn't see the anger coming, hardly braces himself against the wall when a fist connects with his left cheek.  It makes a rattling sound, like he is hollowed out except for a few pieces of something that was once there.  His gut is on fire. He's vaguely aware that Gamzee is screaming at him, hears the guttural sounds ripping out from the taller's throat.  Karkat doesn't bother with a response, the white of his anger curling his toes as he moves up to bite hard into the other's bare shoulder.

It is far from a love bite, it is violent with the intent to break, and break he does.  Karkat's mouth floods with something warm and thick.  His grip hardly loosens though, digging deeper as Karkat feels the weight of Gamzee's fist slamming into his head over and over.  It is rhythmic, and reminds Karkat, strangely, of lazy summer afternoons and saturday morning breakfasts and small smiles hidden by steering wheels. 

His teeth could push against bone.

Gamzee gives first, wretching his shoulder away brutally, letting the skin tear under Karkat's dull teeth with a fleshy sound, the sound the bodies make when they refuse to bend into makeshift graves.  Karkat growls, sees red, wants to howl at the fucking moon before he is jumping back on Gamzee, ready to have the element of surprise on his side for the moment. 

It isn't entirely successful as Gamzee catches him with a white knuckled grip on his throat, laying under Karat with a bleeding shoulder.  He looks good like this, Karkat thinks, and blames how low he's sunken on the alignment of the moon and the sun, how the stars and gods have forsaken them, and the tremble of the bodies that weigh heavily on his shoulders.  He's too old for this.

Despite the lack of air filtering into his lungs, Karkat refuses to stop bringing his fist down on the mug that snarls so openly at him, baring bloody teeth to match his own.  He stops when the grip on his throat becomes unbearable, forcing him to release his fist and claw at the fingers around his neck.  He digs his nails into the soft flesh, is aware of the way they break skin and stain, is aware that he's drooling now, that he is a mess.  Gamzee slowly pushes himself up, keeping his fingers wrapped tightly against his skin, despite Karkat being sure he nearly has the potential of ripping one off.   Gamzee sits up once he finds his position sufficient, with Karkat cradling his legs, their eyes level.  Karkat can't keep his focus on him for too long, forcing his eyes to stop rolling into the back of his head when air is vanishing.

Gamzee doesn't relax his hold, rather he stretches his fingers around the base of skin, almost soothing if it wasn't killing Karkat.  He leans in, his voice raspy from all the earlier screaming.  "Where were you?"

It sounds like a sensible question, if Karkat had enough air to think about it.  Now, it sounds like a prayer, a voice lifting Karkat somewhere he'd rather not go.  Gamzee seems to finally have spotted the trouble in holding a conversation like this, so he releases his grasp on Karkat's bruised neck, if only enough for him to breathe.  The air rushes in with a whistle and a pant.  Karkat's drooling all over the place like a fucking child, and his eyes refuse to focus. 

"Where were you?" Karkat reaches an unsteady hand to slowly crawl up Gamzee's arm.  It's comforting for a moment, a familiar touch that leaves Gamzee at a calmer state, until it reaches the deep bite marks and digs in.  Gamzee yelps, drops his hold on Karkat to slap him hard across the face.  They both separate and go down, breathing rapidly.  Gamzee turns to face Karkat, but the other stares at the wall, silently scratching his nails against the wood of the floor.

" 'm sorry."

The apology worms its way out of Gamzee's lips faster than he can stop it.  Gamzee suddenly feels fear wretch into his soul, curling like a fog.  His blood tastes bitter in his mouth.  Maybe he's gone too far, he thinks, he wasn't really looking to hurt Karkat.  He was just worried, thought something bad might have happened to his short friend.  He loves Karkat after all, loves him like a brother and a lover and a father.

The silence stretches around them for moments longer than Gamzee likes but he dares not break it except for the slight sniffles he lets leak out, though the blood clotting his nose is nothing to cry about.  Karkat curls into himself, and Gamzee's shoulder hurts.  They both know that will need medical attention or it will scar horrifically, fall into another story on Gamzee's map of a body.  Yet, neither of them move.   The planks of the floor feel cool against their heated skin, touches the bases of their necks.  Gamzee is nearly asleep there, bleeding out like the mess that he is when he hears rather than sees, Karkat's crawling toward him.  Neither speak just yet, but Karkat rests his head against the untouched shoulder of the taller male's.  Gamzee gets a good look at him, knows the beautifully thick bruises that bloom on thin flesh, ten perfect fingers, Gamzee can count when each end and the other begins.  He notes the swelling of his right eye, notes Karkat's habit of collecting black eyes and broken bones.  There's caked saliva on his chin and Gamzee resists the urge to lick it or at least wipe it off.

He knows his state is not much better.   His shoulder is torn to hell, and if he wasn't so tired he might find it a turn on.  Instead, he lets little whimpers escape him.  Karkat sighs against his neck, heavy and gentle before a palm reaches up to soothe him, petting his cheek with small strokes.  Gamzee wants to weep, feels the prickle in his eyes that signal tears but Karkat is having none of that, hushing him softly with little petting motions.  It works, holds Gamzee down and lets him accept the pain as punishment.  Gamzee does, but he turns his body to kiss him.

Karkat's lips are swollen against his, but he bets it is from the fists he took to the face rather than his desire to be held.  Gamzee holds him anyway, feels the soft tissue of Karkat's body shift to fit against him.  The kiss is slow, lazy and despite the worrisome state they're both in, Gamzee is content, because being this up close to Karkat reminds him of all the reasons why he loves him. 

By the way Karkat leaves small pecks at the side of Gamzee's lips, he feels the same.  Gamzee shifts his head, because he wants those lips on his, wants to pinpoint Karkat's pulse through them against his own.  He feels it quietly, like the mood Karkat is in right now.  A quiet mood that settles in their bones as they hold each other and lick their wounds. 

"You said you'd comfort me when the world swallowed me whole."

Karkat looks at Gamzee, _really_ looks at him, sees the lines of violence on his face and the glint of a monster in his eyes.  "I am, and I will," Karkat mutters, the first words he's spoken properly since entering the apartment, hardly louder than a whisper.  Gamzee hums like he heard him.

"I was at Dave's."

This holds Gamzee's attention, pale eyes flash with something from earlier as the body beside Karkat tenses.  He continues stroking Gamzee's cheek, keeping his lips close to his and leaving small little taps against him. 

"Did you?" Gamzee asks, feigns nonchalance as fingers move to Karkat's hips, holding him against his body.  The grip is hardly enough to hurt, but holds a bit of a warning.  Karkat smiles, small and tight, before giving him another kiss, as if to say there is no need for such fears.

Karkat remembers the white tiles of Dave's bathroom, remembers how they felt cold through his shoes.  He had looked into the mirror and stared at something that vaguely resembled him, bright eyes and heavy bags.  He remembers reaching into his sweater and pulling out the army knife, feeling the weight on his hand as he balanced it.

It would be quick, he had thought.  He barely makes a sound as he moves, would move up right behind him and whisper soft chants of lust and love and it would be easy, so goddamn easy.  Karkat had played with the knife for so long in the bathroom, testing his ability to stab at nothing like his back didn't weigh with all his practice.  He knows how much force is needed to break skin, has it down to muscle memory.  It's the toothbrush that stops him.

The small piece of plastic, green as the forest, that sits beside a red one.  It's glittered, similar to the ones Karkat used to get at the dentist after a visit.  He touched the plastic green brush gently, felt how it made his blade heavy and sharp.

He couldn't do it after all.

"I wanted to kill him," he mutters into Gamzee's mouth.  This seems to spark a smile in the other as he mouths back.

"Did you?" Gamzee asks, feigns nonchalance.

"No."

Gamzee doesn't say anything before he's on top of Karkat, pushing his lips against his with a greater force than their lazy kisses.  They're rough, almost brutal, but Karkat's so dull to pain he hardly notices, rather he reaches up to twist his fingers into thick waves of black hair.  His shirt comes off without a hitch and Gamzee's skin is cool against his chest.  He tries to stop the flexing of his muscles with no avail, whimpering as Gamzee lets his nails rack down them.

Despite how rough it seems, it goes surprisingly slow.  Karkat's pants are off in moments and when he feels the heat that envelops his cock, he's gasping in pieces.  Gamzee moves like he's practiced but they both know better.  His tongue brushes against the underside of him, and Karkat can't stop panting.  Gamzee just looks at him, his eyes glowing in the dark.  Karkat gets vaguely pissed at himself for not landing a black eye to match his own.

He releases in Gamzee's mouth, doesn't bother warning him.  He thinks to apologize, but the swelling of his right eye, nearly forcing it shut, makes him think otherwise.

Gamzee moves up to kiss him, and Karkat should have known better because he tastes himself in thick spills in Gamzee's mouth.  Gamzee smirks, like knowing he didn't swallow is the smartest thing he's ever done, and Karkat wants to bite him.  So he does, right on his bottom lip, feels it swell in between his teeth.  He licks his handiwork.

"I got the address written down, you know," Karkat hums into Gamzee's mouth, it feels like it echoes around them.   Gamzee gives him a slow smile, lazy and playful but Karkat knows better.

"Did you?"

_  
_


	11. Get Your Body Beat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Cale here posting for Sonny, who's computer is currently being repaired! Happy Holidays to everyone! <3

Chapter Eleven – Get Your Body Beat

———

Gamzee rarely smokes, can count the amount he’s lit up on one hand. Despite the chilly weather, the way the wind cuts his exposed fingers, he feels now is a good time to start a habit. It’s a nice place, he notes. He likes the way the glass reflects the crosswalks and business suits but shares no secrets about what’s inside. It is a shock that someone like _him_ lives here, third floor, red and green toothbrushes.

The smoke is burns on Gamzee’s finger tips, delicate the way it curls into his lungs and touches his throat, makes him feel like Karkat must feel now with his yellow purple bruises. It’s sexy, and Gamzee licks his lips as he looks up at the building from the outside, with one hand inside the deep grey of his coat, and the other clutching the cigarette with fingers harder than stones.

Gamzee took care of himself today, the makeup scarce on his face, the wildness of his hair just slightly more tamed. His jeans are clean and the coat is one of Karkat’s over-sized goodwill purchases. Looks like a tent on Karkat’s tiny frame but it snug fitted Gamzee just right, makes him look like a damn respectable member of society. He even brushed his teeth.

The stick melts to the filter but Gamzee doesn’t stop until it’s burning the tips of his chilled fingers. He hardly feels it but watches with idle interest at the discoloring of the skin. His doesn’t bloom like Karkat’s, where damage spreads evenly and gentle, like the rush of waves. His just blotches, turns an ugly shade of red and then swells up. It’s hardly appealing, so he casts the cancer aside, making sure to step on the stub with the heel of his shoe as if it matters, and then heads up the stairs. 

The railing is cold against his palm but he walks slow, breathes into the collar of the coat with slow assurance and practices smiling underneath it. He stretches the muscles over and over, stopping when his lips threaten to crack from the weather. Gamzee needs to appear presentable, harmless and to do this, blood split from jagged lips is hardly what normal people call appealing.

After two more flights and twelve more practice attempts, he reaches the door, hard wood with an average design etched into the center for the cutely shaped window. It looks cozy, despite Gamzee not even peering inside yet. Reaching a hand to brush back his hair, taming it more into the good looking guy he knows he can be, he does one more final smile practice and then he knocks. A dog barks, and a woman with beautiful green eyes opens the door with a questioning look.

"Hi," Gamzee greets, the smoke making his voice a bit lower, rougher. The woman smiles back, a genuine being of polite nature.

"Good afternoon, sir," she nods back, getting comfortable, the door opening a little wider, as if she wanted a good look at the taller male. Gamzee notes the dog watching them both closely from behind her.

"I’m Gamzee. Jade, right?" The woman nods again, opening her mouth to ask who he was before he finished. "I’m a friend of Dave’s. Can I come in?"

———

Dave stares at the blinking of the computer screen, waiting for his eyes to focus. Sleep was not in his company that night, and as he waits for his brain to wake up he thinks of Karkat. He had come to visit Dave for a reason, something important he guessed, by the urgency of his knocks and the haste in which he held himself. The haste in which he had left him. Dave can’t remember if Karkat told him something, and it followed him to his dreams. It is only when Rose appears with a steaming cup of coffee placed gingerly before him that Dave realizes his face has been slowly falling off his palm and making acquaintances with the desk table. 

"Thanks," he mutters, heartfelt despite it’s quiet nature as he reaches for the black mug, mentally preparing himself for the warm liquid to shock his lips. It does and he hisses anyway.

"It’s the least I could do for my darling brother, who seems to be going through his teenager years again."

Dave rolls his eyes, he knows she’s aware because the shades are off. She had plucked them off herself not too long ago, to avoid him falling asleep at work and covering up for himself. The coffee coaxes his lips open and soon, his sipping on it gently. “I just had a rough night.”

"Wasn’t Jade out? Did you get lonesome?"

Dave does not answer that. Rather he finishes his coffee, let’s it burn his throat and squeezes his eyes shut against the burning in his vision. If he doesn’t it starts to feel as if everyone around him is burning as well.

———

Karkat sits quietly on his bed. The bandages are soft against his skin. They cover the sore spots but do nothing to hide the ache that rattles him hollow. The dying sun is leaking from the windows, grazing his exposed skin and Karkat finds solace in it, leans towards it to reach out his hands and warm more parts of him. The bandage around his neck restrains his movements a little bit but he does not stop. He shifts himself on the small bed and nearly crawls, pushing his body painstakingly slow towards the light.

He manages to put himself right before the window, where the light touches the bed, where the sheets felt hot against his skin, and it does burn him, but not physically. He wants all of him to be warm, so he drags his legs up towards him, wraps his arms around himself tightly, curled up and compact. His toes barely make it into the light and Karkat is crying. He thinks it’s because of the warmth, how it feels on his cold skin, almost too hot. Or it might be the old aches of his body from past wars with not just physical enemies.

The tears do not stop though, and as he lays there balled up in the sun, a cloud passes over, covering him in a shade cold enough that Karkat can taste the ice on his tongue, it tastes black and yellow.

Karkat remains there sobbing, despite the frantic knocking.

———

Dave barely makes if off the bus without falling, his legs wobbly and loose. He’s so tired that he starts to see things that hardly make sense. He thought the bus driver wanted to dance, when clearly his mind was racing elsewhere. The laptop bag around his shoulder feels heavier than usual but he sucks up the cold air and makes his way to the stairs. Jade will be home around this time, and Dave can think of nothing better than cuddling up after this shitty weather and watching a comedy central marathon.

The stairs nearly slip under him but he catches himself on the railing, nearly shouts from frostbite before letting it go and moving on. Once he hits the second flight of stairs, it happens again. He catches himself a lot earlier this time, not as startled with the coldness of the metal railing as before, but his eyes catch on something beyond him.

He does not have the same clown face paint on that Dave has seen him in countless times before. The jacket looks new too, nice and well kept. There’s no mistake with that height, Dave knows it’s him by the way his heart speeds up, the way his palms suddenly feel so warm against the railing. Gamzee must have noticed him staring because the man turns around, his figure more imposing despite the distance. 

He catches Dave’s eyes and gives him a charming smile, practiced to the letter with perfect lips and just enough teeth, and Dave has never really seen his eyes this well before. They’re a bright velvet that’s haunting, and makes Dave want to swallow the rock in his throat. Gamzee does not spare him any more time before moving out to the street, crossing the road and fading into the crowd of the after-work rush hour. Dave cannot get his legs to move right away, his breathing erratic and all he can think of is how horrifying Karkat looks and how it’s nothing compared to the devil lurking in that charming smile.

He remembers suddenly and he’s taking two stairs at a time, the sleepiness having left to be replaced with the spike of fear. He gets to his floor, runs to the wooden door and nearly smacks into it. His fingers are fumbling too hard to gather his keys so he hastily knocks, rapidly waiting for Jade to answer, if she can answer. It’s irregular and off and Dave can feel the tears pricking the edge of his eyes before the door opens hurriedly, a confused Jade standing there. Once she recognizes Dave though, a beautiful smile graces her lips.

"You should have gotten home sooner!"

"Sooner?" Dave pants, holding back the tears and wiping his face, blaming it on the cold as he enters.

"Yeah, your friend stopped by to say hello," she sings out, heading straight to the living room to hang Dave’s coat.

"Friend?" Dave asks, his hands reaching down to take off his shoes, willing them to stop shaking, to stop the panic.

Jade hums affirmatively before entering the doorway again with a smile on her lips and giggle in her voice. “Gamzee, whatever.”

Dave’s heart stops cold and even he cannot stop the dry heave of sheer trepidation.

"Who?" Dave whispers again, and Jade is starting to see his panic, if the confusion clouding her eyes is anything to go by.

"He said he was a close friend of yours…?"

Dave does not answer immediately, just stands up and gives her a kiss on the forehead. Grasping her cheeks and holding her there. “Yeah, sorry,” he manages to say in a quiet tone. “It’s been a long day at work.” Jades doesn’t say anything else but let’s him embrace her, and she is so warm against him. When Dave heads to the bathroom later that night, after having triple-checked if the door is looked, he stands at a loss at the sink. 

There’s only one toothbrush in the cup resting by the fountain. 

Dave falls to his knees, gripping the porcelain with white knuckles and hanging his head. He doesn’t understand why he feels so trapped, it’s just a fucking toothbrush. But he feels helpless, weak against a force greater than himself and for some reason, he can’t stop the burning of the tears this time.

———

Gamzee walks back to his place in silence, the smoke dangling familiarly on his lips, the toothbrush rolling around gently in his hands. It’s a bright red and hardly original. The weight is light on his skin, numbed out from the cold weather but Gamzee doesn’t discard the thing until he’s near his apartment. He gets to his floor, sees the hallway trash can and snaps the plastic in half. The edges are sharp on his skin but he doesn’t cut himself. He’s better than that. He throws the offending piece of red plastic away before standing outside his door until Karkat no longer cries.

Gamzee prays for him and for himself.


End file.
